


All These Years Runnin' 'Round

by Shoshanna Gold (shoshannagold)



Category: Ocean's Eleven (2001)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:10:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoshannagold/pseuds/Shoshanna%20Gold





	All These Years Runnin' 'Round

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura/gifts).



Rusty was lying on a lounge chair by the pool when Danny came in, reading. Rusty squinted up at him through the bright light. "Didn't think I'd see you here today."

Danny shrugged. "Figured today's as good a day as any," he said. He didn't look happy. "Nice place you've got here."

"Thanks, I like it," said Rusty. "It used to belong to a lesser member of the Iraqi royal family, but, from what I understand, his future plans won't include vacations to the Indian seaside. Or vacations, really."

"A bit off the beaten track, though. You must have a very good realtor." 

"I heard about it from the sheik's ex-wife, who is close to the Caldwell family. She was happy to sell it; the sheik used to entertain here." 

"Ah." Danny walked around the terrace, as if taking a closer look at foliage, while Rusty used the moment to take him in. His hands were loose in the pockets of his linen slacks, but there was much more gray in his hair than there had been on the job in Capetown, and he looked exhausted. 

"I hope you didn't have a hard time finding me," said Rusty, and found that he meant it. "Not a lot of people know about this place." Fewer than a dozen, really, and the only person who would have told Danny about it was allowed to do so only if it were vitally important for Danny to find him. 

"Not at all," said Danny, giving up his scrutiny of the hibiscus plants near the pool's edge. "Linus put me on a plane, and had a driver at the airport pick me up. I wasn't blindfolded and put in the trunk, but the driver wasn't much of a tour guide. So leaving under my own steam might present a challenge."

Rusty sighed. That kid was a persistent son of a bitch. "I trust Linus is well. Were you in London for long?"

"He's in Prague these days, actually. Something about the Czech modernist movement – I admit I wasn't paying as much attention as I might have. But he seems happy, yeah." Danny looked right at him, for the first time since he'd said hello. He nodded at the book Rusty was reading. "That time again, I see."

Rusty looked down at the copy of _A French Soldier's War Diary_ he was holding. "Little bit early this year, actually, but Isabel came across this edition on a job in Chamonix and sent it to me." 

Danny nodded. "Looks like the original binding."

"Smyth stitching, calfskin binding. I think they might have used a composite for the embossing, which is typical of the industry of the time."

"Not a lot of spare gold lying around France in the early part of the 1920s," Danny said. He nodded at the dust jacket. "That original?"

Rusty nodded. "Yeah. Might be hard to tell from there, but there's slip around it that's acid-free and UV-resistant. As long as I don't get the urge to throw it in the pool, it's safe enough out here."

"Completes the experience for you, to read a book like that literally from cover to cover."

Yes, it did. There wasn't much Rusty had ever valued more than a complete experience. "I find as I get older, I'm increasingly less willing to settle for less than everything," he said agreeably. "Are you staying long enough to have a drink?"

"At least that long, I guess," said Danny. He looked at Rusty's empty glass. "Would you like a top-up too?" 

"Please," said Rusty. "There's a pitcher of lychee martinis in the fridge in the poolhouse."

Danny made a face. "Lychee?"

"When in Goa," said Rusty, shrugging. "They're delicious when they're fresh, and I bought these from a farmer at the market yesterday. Get the plate of sliced mango beside it, while you're at it."

Danny nodded. "You going to be here when I come back?"

"When you come back from the poolhouse?" Rusty asked, looking at the small stone and glass hut ten feet to his left.

"Yeah," Danny smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

_Huh._ Rusty didn't answer, just looked at him. 

"Right," Danny said, nodding. "That wasn't a fair question."

"We can talk about it after you get the drinks," said Rusty. Danny nodded, and the lines around his eyes relaxed.

Rusty noted the page he was on and then closed his book, laying it on the table. Towards the centre, so that it would be harder to reach in case anybody did get the urge to throw something in the pool, or elsewhere. It had been a long time, but that wasn't without precedent. 

Danny came back with a tray. He looked at the book sitting in the middle of the table. "I'd probably go for a glass first, rather than an exquisite piece of post-war literary craftsmanship, but I suppose there is precedent."

Rusty shrugged. "This way we don't have to worry about the martinis splashing on the cover. It would be difficult to get another out here, if it got sticky." 

"Sure," said Danny. He put the tray on the table. "Lychee martinis, mango, and I put out some cashews too. Same farmer?"

Rusty shook his head. "Different guy, same market. These were grown by a Brit expat, on a farm about twenty miles away. He roasts them over wood cut from lemon trees, with saffron and coriander. Deliciously subtle taste."

"You've settled in here nicely," said Danny blandly, pouring a martini into Rusty's glass. "And yet, there's only one chaise out here. No chairs either."

"I don’t have a lot of company." said Rusty. He shifted to the side. "It's a big chaise. There's room for two."

Danny arched an eyebrow at him. "Some company at least, if you know that."

Rusty shook his head. "I've spent a lot of time on this chaise; I didn't need to do empirical testing to know that the two of us could fit on it."

"Okay," said Danny, exhaling slowly. He poured himself a drink and handed it to Rusty. "Hold this for me."

There was more than enough room for two on the chaise – Rusty had been intending to have company, at some point. He just hadn't run into anybody he wanted that close to him in quite some time. Not since they had finished that last job and Tess had been waiting for Danny at the airport in Tangiers, arms open and smile beseeching.

Three weeks later, Linus had found Rusty at an expat bar in Casablanca. He'd very kindly not said anything about Rusty being a complete and utter cliche, just sat down and said, "At least there isn't a freaking pianist in here, Rusty." Two drinks later, Linus had introduced Rusty to Lila, the sheik's ex-wife. Two drinks after that, Rusty had handed Lila the keys to his flat in Portugal and she'd called her lawyer to transfer the title of the house in Goa to him. It was the most honest trade Rusty had ever made and, ironically, quite possibly the best one he'd made in his life. 

Danny settled in next to him, and Rusty felt his body heat like a brand. He handed Danny back his drink and took a healthy sip of his own. 

They sat there, closer than they had been since the night before the day Tess had been at the Tangiers airport and Danny had gone home with her. Rusty didn't think about that, or about the three weeks that had come after that. There were birds flying over the sea that was just beyond the fence, and he listened to them, and to Danny's breath, slow and quiet.


End file.
